<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Let Your Heart be Light by ProsperDemeter</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111449">Let Your Heart be Light</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProsperDemeter/pseuds/ProsperDemeter'>ProsperDemeter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>20 Days of Holiday Fics [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Gen, Minor Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Pre-Robin Dick Grayson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:46:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProsperDemeter/pseuds/ProsperDemeter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark was babysitting and he had babysat before but… his apartment, while nice, was nowhere near as nice as Wayne Manor. And his tree was nowhere near as big and he didn’t have a fireplace but he did have a fireplace app on the television if Dick really missed it that much. It was only for a day, Bruce had said tonelessly, and Clark had been ordered not to go too crazy with sweets, presents, or anything that would make the boy more spoiled than he already was.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent &amp; Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; Clark Kent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>20 Days of Holiday Fics [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035498</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>227</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let Your Heart be Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>16! </p><p>Look! I made a part two to Clark meeting Dick for the first time. I still love it. </p><p>For this: Dick is six years old and been with Bruce for a year. He's NOT Robin yet.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    Clark had babysat for Bruce a handful of times. He wasn’t the man’s <em> go-to </em> babysitter - that was Selina Kyle or Alfred or, on occasion, <em> Barry Allen </em> of all people - but he was up there on the list. Fourth on the list, actually. Three rungs <em> above </em> Diana. He wasn’t, naturally, a fan of being below Barry but it guessed it made sense. When he had asked Bruce about it the normally stoic man had gotten that look on his face that he always did whenever he spoke about his son and said, gruffly, “He likes to play with his nephew.” Clark had smiled, that small, knowing smile Bruce <em> hated </em> and looked down at the file in his hands instead of at the other man. </p><p>    Go figure, he thought, only Dick would be the person to get Bruce to willingly spend time around <em> Barry Allen </em> of all people. </p><p>    Clark figured his apartment with Lois was fine for the evening, she was working late at the Planet anyway - Perry had her on assignment the week before and she was finishing up the copy before sending it to print - so they would have the place to themselves. It had been a year, exactly a year to the day, since Clark had first met Bruce’s ward. He supposed the small boy had Clark thoroughly wrapped around his pinky finger and he wasn’t even ashamed to admit it. To be completely honest, Clark was pretty sure he had the entire League wrapped around each of his fingers. The kid was the only one in existence who could skin his knee and suddenly have twenty different heroes on their way to fight the gravel that dare pierce his skin. </p><p>    As it was, Clark was babysitting and he <em> had </em> babysat before but… his apartment, while nice, was nowhere near as nice as Wayne Manor. And his tree was nowhere near as big and he <em> didn’t </em> have a fireplace but he <em> did </em> have a fireplace <em> app </em> on the television if Dick really missed it that much. It was only for a day, Bruce had said tonelessly, and Clark had been ordered not to go too crazy with sweets, presents, or anything that would make the boy more spoiled than he already was. </p><p>    Clark didn’t know how to tell Bruce that he wasn’t exactly the problem with any of that. When Lois Lane got her head wrapped around something <em> no one </em> could get her mind off it. And when Martha Kent had found out that Brucie - <em> Brucie? Your friend from the city? The grumpy one? </em> - had adopted a kind hearted, down on his luck, <em> adorable </em> child she had been absolutely impossible to derail. She had never met Dick Grayson but she already adopted the child as her first pseudo grandchild. They had a pile of gifts for the poor boy under their already small tree (sue him, almost no one in his family had been given the chance to buy for a child for Christmas since Clark was one) and Lois had stocked their fridge and cabinets with more junk food than she usually allowed - <em> because you might have a super metabolism, Clark, but I was not gifted with that super power.  </em></p><p>    He really hoped Bruce would notice when he dropped Dick off. </p><p>    Who was he kidding? Bruce would absolutely notice. </p><p>    The apartment was as clean as it was going to be, he decided. There was nothing dangerous or emotionally scarring to a six-year-old laid out on his coffee table, the door to his bedroom was firmly shut, and, though Clark had contemplated investing in child locks on the doors, windows, and cabinets, he had talked himself out of it. Six, all the websites told him, was old enough to understand the meaning of the word <em> no </em>. </p><p>    It wasn’t that Clark was worried, he got along with Dick, he adored the bright eyed child for more than just what he represented in his friend’s life. It was just… he had never really been <em> alone </em> with him before. Not for a prolonged period of time. And Dick, while sweet and nice, wasn’t exactly the most <em> normal </em> child. </p><p>    He had a nasty habit of hanging off of things and, at the expense of Bruce and in a controlled environment, it was a little funny. The kid was strong and talented and it was obvious that Bruce didn’t want him to lose what little part of his family he had left in acrobatics. Clark knew the things Bruce had tried - gymnastics was both too easy and too disciplined for the child and he had apparently made the instructor <em> cry </em> out of pure frustration by knowing how to perform a perfect triple axle, expertly performed the Produnova vault <em> and </em> had dazzled with a triple double in the first class but <em> refusing </em> adamantly to actually do any of the work. Alfred had bought a squirt gun to try and curtail the habit of hanging off the chandeliers but it, apparently, didn’t work. Bruce had taken to installing a gym in the mansion, full of all the equipment a former acrobat prodigy could ever dream of and had, apparently, started teaching the boy hand-to-hand combat, something that Clark wasn’t entirely a fan of but could understand the logic behind. After all, he <em> did </em> live in Gotham now and he <em> was </em> the legal son of a billionaire. </p><p>    Clark had asked Bruce, once around six months ago, if he were ever planning on <em> adopting </em> Dick legally - make him a Wayne officially instead of just his ward. Bruce had given him a look that Clark couldn’t decipher and shook his head. “Dick had a family,” Bruce had said without more explanation. </p><p>    “Dick <em> has </em> a family.” Clark had corrected kindly, softly, and pretended he didn’t notice the way Bruce had tensed and ignored the words. </p><p>    What would he do, Clark wondered, if the boy ever slipped up and called him dad? Or any variation thereof? <em> Had </em> he done it and Bruce just not said anything? It was entirely possible after all. Clark didn’t spend every waking moment with them and, even closer now that Bruce had taken in the child, they weren’t the sharing little details type.</p><p>    Clark hoped the boy knew it, though, knew <em> just how much </em> Bruce cared for him. <em> Just how much </em> he may have lost his family but gained a new one entirely. </p><p>    The buzzer sounded through the apartment but Clark had heard them when they had reached the curb. Bruce had a certain<em> walk </em> where each step seemed a passive, gentle threat. Dick had the walk of exuberance and joy and Clark had learned how to expertly find his voice even halfway across the world. </p><p>    For security measures, of course. </p><p>    Not because Clark felt the need to know that he was safe when he knew Bruce couldn’t verify that himself.</p><p>A year. </p><p>An entire year this child had been in their lives and he had completely stolen an entire cavern of Clark’s heart. </p><p>“Come on up,” Clark said while holding down the button that would let them into the building. Bruce had a key, of course, just like Diana and Lois and just like Clark had a key to Wayne Manor hanging off his keychain - <em> for emergencies only, Clark </em>. </p><p>It had snowed in Metropolis the night before so Clark wasn’t surprised to hear the eager plees of Dick to play outside and the tired, <em> we’ve already had this conversation </em> tone of voice of Bruce’s they trudged up the carpet lined staircase but it still made him take pause. He didn’t have a backyard but he <em> did </em> have a balcony that him and Lois hadn’t bothered to clear the snow off of earlier. Perhaps they could make a snowman or two. </p><p>Clark was at the door before Bruce could knock but waited the perfect amount of time to swing open the door so as not to rouse suspicions - of a <em> six year old </em> , really, Bruce? He’s not even going to <em> think </em> we could be anyone other than we say we are. Behind the wood was father and son - Bruce and <em> ward </em> - looking nearly identical. That wasn’t to say that they looked very alike. In fact, the older Dick got the less like Bruce he looked. But it was the way that the boy was learning to carry himself, chin up, shoulders back, and confident show smile. It was the way Bruce had him wear his hair, brushed back off his forehead and stuffed under a black woolen beanie. It was the coat, still a red puffer but darker, more subdued. There were noticeable differences, though. Like the freckled Dick had under his left eye, the scars that littered Bruce’s knuckles, the light up Superman sneakers that made Clark beam, and the artificial, wash off tattoo Dick had on the back of his hand (he had given Bruce one too, on his upper arm, of something that looked like a monkey but Clark wasn’t supposed to know it was there and, wisely, wouldn’t point it out). “Hey Dickie!” Clark couldn’t help it, his voice registered excitement over the nerves of being left alone and he caught the boy easily when he launched himself at him. </p><p>“Uncle Clark!” His english had come a long way (Clark <em> also </em> knew that Bruce read him bedtime stories in the tongue he had grown up with, too determined to keep him from losing the things that made him unique and special) and, if Clark hadn’t known it, he would barely have been able to pick up a hint of an accent that <em> wasn’t </em> upperclass Gotham. He hugged Clark tight with skinny arm and whatever expression had been on his face before registering who was behind it was gone completely in favor of his usual, boyish charm. Clark settled him on his hip (even if six was a little old to be held unless he was exhausted or the situation called for it but Clark was <em> Superman </em> he could, and <em> would </em>, hold the child until he didn’t want to be held) and poked him square on the tip of his nose. </p><p>Dick giggled and rubbed the spot with his mitten covered hands - a <em> very </em> bright yellow, Clark wondered where Bruce had managed to find <em> those </em> (it was Selina that had found them and promptly bought them for him. She had a habit of happily getting Dick absolutely anything that Bruce said no to.). “How are you doing, birdie?” It was a sort of an inside joke between the two of them - whenever Clark was over Dick asked him to tell him a story about Nightwing and Flamebird and he, in turn, told him a previously guarded secret of his own. His parents had called him their little bird, their little robin, and Clark kept that confidence with everything in him that he could. It didn’t hurt Bruce not to know it and, really, the man knew almost everything in the world anyway. So Clark supposed he <em> probably </em> did know of the nickname already but had, simply, decided to turn a blind eye until Dick told him it himself. </p><p>“Do I get to stay here tonight?” He asked instead of answering but the excitement was answer in itself. </p><p>“Yep! It’s just us tonight, bud.” </p><p>Bruce shifted and slipped the bag off his shoulder - it was <em> bright green </em> , and had little cartoon arrows all over it (it had been a gift from Oliver Queen that Dick had <em> instantly </em> loved and Bruce had <em> instantly </em> hated)! - and onto the floor. “There’s a few changes of clothes in there,” Bruce said, stilted, unused to conversation as he was with people that weren’t Alfred, Selina, or a child. “His toothbrush, bedtime story, <em> and </em> Zitka too.” </p><p>Dick’s eyes instantly shot to the bag, worry clouding the blue skies before he wiggled his way out of Clark’s grip and onto the floor. He dropped to his knees and unzipped it quickly. The stuffed elephant was revealed a moment later and he pulled Zitka out of her confines to give her a tight, giant hug. “It was too cold for her outside,” Dick said, his nose pressed against the curve of her trunk and looking intently into her beedy, black eyes. “Do, do you know that elephants pr… produce more heat than they use?” He looked at Bruce for confirmation that his information was correct and a rare, proud smile, crossed the younger man’s features as he nodded. Dick brightened again and turned back to Clark. “But Zitka doesn’t like the cold, it makes her toes cold.” </p><p>“Well then,” Clark replied as helpful as he could. “We’ll just have to keep her in here when we make snowmen.” </p><p>“We’re gonna make snowmen?” Dick tugged excitedly on his father’s sleeve. “Bruce! I’ve never made a snowman!” </p><p>“We made a snowman last year.” Bruce corrected gently. </p><p>“But not a… not a <em> snowman </em> snowman.” Dick insisted. </p><p>Bruce rolled his eyes but it was only when Dick had looked away and only so that Clark could see it. Clark stifled a laugh, he might have been annoyed but the soft look in his eyes said much more than Bruce ever could. “Okay,” he patted his pockets until he found his car keys and checked his watch (it was gold and had a bright red stone in the center, small as it was, and said on the back <em> Happy Father’s Day </em> in messy child-like scrawl engraved. Alfred had gifted it to him earlier that year). “Think you’ll be good here?” He asked the boy. </p><p>Dick’s smile dropped. “You’re leaving?” Had Bruce not told him that earlier? Oh Clark hoped he had and that the little boy had conveniently forgotten. If not it was going to be a much more difficult evening for them to get through. </p><p>Bruce sighed and bent down to Dick’s height. He plucked off Dick’s hat, tucked it into the pocket of the boy’s coat, and smoothed down the black hair as it fell into his face. Dick blinked at the floor instead of at him and cradled Zitka strong to his chest. Looking at him hurt Clark’s heart. “Hey,” Bruce tapped Dick’s chin once, and the boy’s blue eyes shot to his before looking over his shoulder. “We talked about this, chum. I’ll be back in the morning.” </p><p>“I don’t want you to go.” Dick muttered into Zitka’s body. He sounded wrecked and Clark hadn’t even stopped to think about how dependent a child that had been through the trauma Dick had would grow to be on the one that, for all intents and purposes, saved him. “You <em> promised </em>.” </p><p>“I know, Dick,” Bruce sighed and hung his head for a moment, something waring on his face that Clark couldn’t place. “I’m sorry,” Clark’s eyebrows shot up. Bruce Wayne had never said <em> that </em> before. “I know I promised and I should have kept it. But think of how <em> excited </em> you were to spend the night with Uncle Clark?” He glanced up at Clark, then, and Clark thanked all of the missions they had gone on together that told him what <em> that </em> look meant. He knelt down too, a big hand resting on Dick’s back. </p><p>“Yeah, Dickie-bird,” Clark said softly. “Lois got you some presents and I’ve waited to watch Aladdin until you were here.” </p><p>It worked, a little, and Dick leaned back into his hand for a moment before reaching for Bruce’s neck and pulling him into the tightest hug his arms could handle. He wished, then, that he didn’t have the hearing he did because the moment, and the words, were clearly just meant for each other. “Be a good boy, chum,” Bruce said when he pulled back from the suspiciously long hug. “I’ll see you at ten tomorrow, okay?” </p><p>“On the dot!” Dick insisted. </p><p>“Deal.” Like the man Bruce was, he shook Dick’s hand on it, shocked Clark by kissing the little boy’s rosy cheek, and left with parting instructions to keep Dick up no later than eight thirty. </p><p>Dick watched him from the hallway until he was out of sight and then he ran to the balcony to see him off in the expensive, shiny car. “Bye, Bruce!” Dick yelled down at him, hands gripping the snow covered railing and Clark just a step away in case he leaned too far and went over. </p><p>Bruce laughed - <em> laughed! </em>Clark would never get used to it no matter how many times he heard it - and waved back before driving away. </p><p>And, well, it was normal from there. </p><p><em> Normal </em> , being a term that Clark had never used before in his life. Dick was energetic, rambunctious, and terrifyingly <em> smart </em>. They built a total of five snowmen on Clark’s balcony, small and a little lopsided but wearing five different scarves that Ma had knitted Clark years before and baseball caps he had picked up from every city he had stopped in while on assignment. He stood on a chair to help Clark make Lois’s homemade hot chocolate recipe, sang every song in Aladdin, and then, somehow, managed to get Clark to watch two more Disney movies without even asking. </p><p>    It was almost as though the sadness that had clouded over Dick when Bruce had left was gone completely by the time Lois had stumbled through the door. He was a ridiculously well behaved child - Clark blamed Alfred for that, the older man had next to zero tolerance for any sort of back talk, and lack of respect - and had changed into his pajamas on his own accord promptly after dinner. They were fleece red ones, with yellow Flash symbols all over it (a gift from Barry because, apparently, he had bought the wrong size for his nephew and they fit Dick perfectly). He had settled himself into Clark’s arm, a blanket tossed over his curled up legs, head resting on Clark’s chest, and eyes pinned to the television in front of him and Zitka to his chest. It was nearing eight thirty and his breath was starting to even out with the rhythm of sleep. </p><p>    Clark had been planning on letting Dick stay up later - he didn’t much look forward to having to fight with the boy over bedtime - but it seemed he wouldn’t have to do so until Lois walked in. She cooed when she saw them, didn’t say anything about Clark’s feet being on the table and stepped over his legs to drop a kiss to Dick’s forehead. “Hey there, slugger.” She said softly in greeting as not to disturb the comfortable atmosphere that had fallen over the room. </p><p>Dick waved, smiled, and snuggled farther into Clark’s chest. Lois’s heart actually skipped a beat. She waved away Clark’s questioning look when he sent it her way. </p><p>They chatted a bit, quietly, so as not to disturb the movie, once Lois had changed into her own pajamas and settled on Clark’s other side with her feet tucked under his leg. She had had a relatively normal day at the office, complained a bit about traffic, and when Clark looked back down at Dick it was to see that he had fallen fast asleep, soft snores pushing out of his slightly open mouth. “Fatherhood looks good on you,” Lois said lowly when he stood up, Dick cradled to his chest, so that he could bring him into the guest room. </p><p>“Don’t get any ideas, Miss Lane.”  He teased. </p><p>She winked. </p><p>    Dick was up at five in the morning, right with the sun beginning to rise on the horizon, and he was a quiet child in the morning. Clark figured it was a good thing that he was used to waking up early from the farm because, otherwise, he would have been as miserable as Lois looked hunched over her coffee. He didn’t protest the news being put on but, instead, softly sat on the floor in front of the tree with Zitka in his lap and read the book to the elephant - and, by default, Lois - while Clark whipped up some breakfast. Dick was polite when he ate the food, said please and thank you and asked with all of the correct manners if he could be excused when he had to use the bathroom. Lois waved Clark away when he asked if she was going to make it with a glare and he tucked into his second helping of breakfast when Dick announced, without preamble, “How long have you been Superman?” </p><p>    Clark choked on his coffee, Lois pounded him hard on the back and Dick didn’t even look, in the slightest, sorry but instead merely tilted his head in curiosity. “What?” Clark said once he had regained the ability to breathe and talk at the same time. </p><p>    “How long have you been Superman?” Dick repeated the question as though <em> that </em> was the part Clark was hung up on.  </p><p>    “Dick,” Clark moved slowly, carefully, as though if he said the wrong thing he could possibly insult the intelligence of a very smart child being raised by the World’s Greatest Detective. “I’m… I’m… not Superman.” </p><p>    “Superman.” Lois said at the same time as him.</p><p>    Dick laughed and clamored back up into his chair. “It’s okay, Uncle Clark.” He said while drowning his pancakes in syrup. “Bruce made me <em> promise </em> not to tell.” </p><p>    “B…” Clark had forgotten what words were.</p><p>    It was entirely too early for this conversation to be happening. Dick kicked his legs and the chair creaked. “Wally told me his Uncle Barry’s the Flash and I remembered you said Superman <em> knew </em> the Flash and they were friends and Mister Allen said he knew <em> you </em> so….” Dick shrugged as though the roundabout knowledge was nothing. As though coming to the conclusion of his identity through context clues alone meant nothing about his intelligence. He stuffed a bite of pancake in his mouth and smiled brightly once he swallowed. “I was just curious if you’d been Superman your whole life.” </p><p>    “He has.” Lois recovered quicker than him. “He just wasn’t always going by the name.” </p><p>    “Cool!” Dick enthused. “Do I have to call you Superman now or can I still call you Uncle Clark?” </p><p>    “Uncle Clark is fine,” Clark said in a daze. Uncle Clark was actually <em> more </em> than fine. Clark liked the name more than he liked Superman, anyway, no matter how much it would hurt Lois who had coined the term for him. He had been overjoyed when Dick had first called him it. </p><p>    “Secret for a secret.” Dick declared after he had opened the mound of presents Lois and Clark’s mother had given him mere minutes before Bruce was set to arrive. </p><p>    It was like a story for a story, Clark supposed. Something that meant that whatever Dick was about to come out was something special to be kept between them. “Okay, kiddo, what’s up?” Clark agreed. He couldn’t find it in him to be frustrated that the child had figured it out. It <em> was </em> an impressive amount of deductive reasoning and Clark was sure that Bruce had stressed the importance of a secret identity to him before allowing him to even think about blurting it out. Unlike Barry had with his nephew, <em> apparently </em> (or, perhaps, Dick and Barry’s nephew, Wally, were simply that close). </p><p>    Dick tucked his feet in under himself and turned to face Clark, Zitka in her place of honor on his lap and said, without any sort of tension. “Bruce calls me chum because that’s what his daddy called him. And <em> I </em> call Bruce dad in here.” He poked to his forehead. “Because I called him it once when I was sick and he looked upset.” </p><p>    Oh. </p><p>    Clark would hold onto <em> that </em> one to his grave. </p><p>    “Does it bother you?” He found himself asking. “To not call Bruce that to his face?” </p><p>    Dick shrugged. “No,” He smiled. “I call him B sometimes, like a bumblebee, buzz.” He made the noise with a giggle and Clark’s lips twitched upwards in response. “He likes that more.” </p><p>    Clark couldn’t pretend to understand the reasoning behind Bruce not wanting the moniker of “dad” but he could appreciate the maturity it took in <em> Dick </em> to find a different way around. He called Bruce “B” and Bruce called him “chum” and if that was as close as they could get to “dad” and “son” he supposed it was fine with him. </p><p>    The buzzer rang again and Clark glanced at the clock in pure amazement. </p><p>    Ten o’clock. On the dot. </p><p>    Bruce hadn’t disappointed. </p><p>    He let Dick press the buzzer to let him up and Lois answered the door while Clark helped him gather up his things. Dick had one arm in his jacket when Bruce stepped inside, looking a little tired and with a few bruised ribs that Clark could hear in his breathing. He had been on a mission with Diana and it was surprising that they had been able to wrap it up so quickly. </p><p>    Dick launched himself at his guardian and Bruce, with all of his training, managed to catch him before he slammed into his chest. He swung Dick up easily, tickled at his sides, and hugged him just as fiercely as the little boy locked onto <em> him </em>. “I missed you, B!” Dick declared into his shoulder. “Did you miss me?” </p><p>Now that Clark knew the symbology behind the letter he couldn’t help the smile it gave him. Dick was good for his friend, and if Clark hadn’t known it before he certainly did then. “More than a little bit.” Bruce admitted and Clark wondered if it had been a hard mission. He was sure he would read the report in the afternoon, when it was his turn to man the Watchtower, but for now he was content to watch the way the father and son interacted in their own, special way. </p><p>“Wow,” Lois said once they had gone, leaning back against the door. </p><p>“Hmm?” Clark hummed in question. </p><p>“That’s really <em> Bruce </em>, right?” She asked with a laugh. </p><p>Clark could understand <em> that </em> feeling too. “It takes some getting used to.” He agreed. </p><p>“It’s good.” She nodded. “I think they’re just what each other needs.” </p><p>   </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>